Death and Tea at Three

19 Harold and a New Perspective

It was late. At least, it was late as far as Harold was concerned. Which is why he was surprised to hear frantic knocking coming from his door. Harold looked at his watch and saw that it was a little after seven. What the shit? Harold thought. He tried to ignore the door for as long as he possibly could. This, however, proved pointless, as his leg began to shake restlessly. It was only a few seconds after the first knock that Harold was already up from his chair and heading toward the door.

Harold approached the door cautiously. He had no idea what kind of vagabond patrolled the hallways of his apartment building at such an ungodly hour. The door swung open, and standing before him was, of course, Isobel. Perhaps it was the dim hallway, or perhaps Harold was simply tired, but he did not see Isobel's usual mischievous smirk, or the crinkle that appeared in the corner of her eye when she stared at him. The once-effervescent child was gone. Standing before Harold was not the Isobel he knew, nor one he had ever met, for that matter. Of course, he had seen Isobel upset before, but this – this was something far worse.

"What are you doing? Does your mother know you're here?" Harold asked haughtily. "You know it's late, right? You do know that?"

Not a single sound could be heard. Isobel stood hunched over, her hair draped over her face. She let out a sniffle, and her hand shot up to wipe any tears before they trickled down her cheeks.

"Isobel..." Harold muttered, too afraid to say anything else. The fragility of children was not something he understood. He felt Isobel was stronger than other children, but perhaps that was simply because he liked her more than most.

Isobel was still unable to make a sound. This time, however, she did manage to shake her head before finally mumbling an almost incomprehensible "No."

"Isobel, where is your mother? What's going on?"

"Work," Isobel said. "She got... called in an hour ago." She sniffed a few more times before once again rubbing her eyes, desperately trying to contain her tears. Harold watched as her shoulders continued to slump. She seemed weak, as if the simple task of standing was taking considerable effort. The dim fluorescent lights above cast deep shadows over her.

Harold could feel a knot in the pit of his stomach. He himself began to slouch, mirroring the girl in front of him.

"Why are you here? Isobel, what's the matter? You can't just come to someone's home and then not tell them why... Well, I mean, you can. You're doing it right now, but I'm not happy about it."

"I-I'm... running away," Isobel mumbled, as tears finally began to flow.

Harold paused at her words, and for a moment, seemed perplexed by the statement. "Well," he finally spoke, his demeanor now more relaxed, as if finding out Isobel's intentions relieved him of the looming uncertainty, he had felt prior. "If you're planning on running away, you've done a terrible job. You've only gone next door. In fact, I can see your place from here," Harold said, as he leaned his head out into the hallway and gestured toward Isobel's apartment door. "Look, it's right there."

Isobel swiveled her head and stared back at her apartment door, and for the first time, Harold could see her face. Her eyes were puffy and red, and her lips quivered uncontrollably. But despite her demeanor, Harold was relieved to see something else in her eyes – hope. Isobel stared at her apartment door for a few more seconds before looking toward Harold. Their eyes briefly met before Isobel darted her attention back to the floor in front of her.

"What happened? I just saw you yesterday, and you seemed alright. Now, all of a sudden, you want to run away? That doesn't make sense. So, here's what you're going to do: you're going to come in, take a seat, take a breath, and then just talk." Harold let out a sigh, as he took his own advice to breathe.